


Red Red Rose

by clgfanfic



Category: Shades of LA, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-"Vengeance Is Mine" story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Red Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #12 under the pen name Gillian Holt and Llyr Chaves.

_"You were just kissed by a ghost, Colonel."_

 

          Ever since the aliens arrived, Limbo's been a lot more busy.  We've had housing shortages, long lines for appointments at the Pearly Gates, and absolutely no room in salvation classes.

          Men, women, soldiers, all with a ton of unfinished business, thanks to those bozos from Mortax.  Sure makes for a real ugly corpse, you know?  Lucky for some of these shades that Los Angeles Metro detective Michael Burton was there to help them out.

          In case you haven't met Michael, he's a guy who almost joined us here in Limbo on a full-time basis, but She decided that Michael could be more helpful back in the land of the living.  But Michael still has a real close connection with Limbo.  Shades here can see and talk to Michael, and he helps them solve their unfinished business, letting the lucky shade move on to their afterlife.

          Most of the time, helping us shades also means he solves a crime.  That keeps his lieutenant and Her happy.

          Michael's a real brick when it comes to taking care of his business and ours.  He's also cute.  Tall, trim, thick brown hair, blue blue eyes… sigh… a real looker, in a Roman statue kind of way.  Just ask any of the lady shades waiting their turn!

          Of course he's not as innocent as he looks, and he knows how to use those looks to get what he wants – usually with a kicked puppy-dog expression that would've melted Hitler's lead heart.  I love that hang-dog look…  I really do, but I think I told you that before.

          Anyway, like I was saying, Michael's been pretty busy of late dealing with alien-caused-shades.  There was one case in particular that touched us all…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hello?"

          Michael Burton, burbling bad opera under the head of his shower, paused in mid-off-key note.

          "Hello?"

          Michael's eyes widened.  A woman?  Who…?  He quickly ducked his head to remove the last of the shampoo.  He rinsed his face, then reached to turn off the water.

          "Are you Michael Burton?"

          Michael squeaked and jumped back in the shower, snatching the curtain away from the pretty young woman and using it to cover himself.  "Who are you?"

          "Sara," she said.  "Sara Cole."

          "Well, Sara Cole, if you don't—"

          "I'm… dead," she said, looking down at her bloodstained chest.

          Michael noticed the wound for the first time.  She was definitely dead.  "You're a shade," he told her gently.

          "A shade?"

          "You were in Limbo, right?"

          "Limbo?" she echoed.  "Limbo…  Yes, I was in this place…  It was really foggy."

          "That's Limbo," Michael confirmed, reaching out to grab a towel off the rack.  With a deft move he wrapped it around his hips.

          He stepped out of the shower while Sara sank back against the sink.  "I'm dead, and Martin's going to kill somebody."

          "Martin?" the detective asked, toweling dry with a second.

          "My husband."

          "Who's he going to kill?"

          "The man who shot me."

          "And who's that?" he asked, heading out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

          "I don't know," she said, trailing after him.  "It all happened so fast."  As her agitation grew, Sara began to fade.

          "Whoa, easy, Sara.  You have to stay calm," Michael said, but it was too late. She disappeared.

          He dressed, fed the cat, then headed for his office.  Maybe he could find a report there on the death of Sara Cole.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Here you go," the young female officer said, waving a file folder at Michael.

          "Great!"

          "It's going to cost you," she warned.

          Michael looked pained.  "Cost?"

          The young woman thought for a moment.  "Lunch, at the Brown Derby," she decided.

          Michael's eyes widened.  "The Brown Derby?"

          She slapped the folder to her chest.  "That's my price."

          After a heavy sigh, Michael nodded.  She handed the file folder over and walked away with a smile.  "Next Wednesday," she called back.

          "Right," he said, wondering if he could borrow some lunch money from Louie.

          Laying the file down on his desk, he opened it and began to read:  Sara Cole, shot once on the California State College at Vacaville campus.  She died several hours later at the Vacaville Community Hospital.  It was listed as an accidental shooting, but the shooter was not identified.

          "That's weird," he muttered to himself.

          The next of kin was listed as Martin Cole, husband.  He was also a student at the college.  An attached report showed that Mr. Cole had called authorities a few days later, stating that the shooter had attended Sara's funeral, and he could identify him.  Martin had demanded that the police arrest the shooter, but the report noted that the case was already closed.

          "Stranger and stranger."

          So, it was officially an accidental shooting, but the perp wasn't identified.  That smelled like the feds to him.  But what in the world would the feds be doing on a college campus – with guns?  Whatever it was, it must have been real hush-hush since nothing had showed on the police bulletins.  At the bottom of the report was a name:  Sergeant Roger Tabor.

          Michael grabbed the phone and placed the call.  "Sergeant Tabor?"

          "Yes," was the reply.

          "Hi, this is Detective Burton, LA Metro," Michael introduced himself.  "I've got a question for you."

          "Shoot," Tabor said.

          "An accidental murder case," Michael said.  "Sara Cole?"

          "Yeah, that one," the man replied.  "Look, I'm not at liberty to discuss that case."

          "Fed operation, huh?" he asked casually.

          "Close enough," the detective said.

          "Not the feds?"

          "Military," Tabor admitted.

          "That is… unusual," Michael said.  "Look, is there a contact I can get a hold of?"

          "What's your interest?" Tabor asked.

          "Uh," he delayed, trying to come up with a reasonable cover, "another relative's filing reports here."

          "Martin Cole probably recruited them.  He's like a dog on a bone, just doesn't want to let go."

          "Do you think he's dangerous?"

          Tabor snorted.  "To himself, maybe."

          Michael leaned forward.  "You think he could get access to the shooter?"

          "I doubt it," was the reply.  "The guy's Army.  Special Forces.  Special anti-terrorist squad, but you didn't hear that from me.  It's all top secret.  Sara Cole got caught in the middle of some kind of terrorist action and got killed."

          Army.  Special Forces.  Terrorists.  Top Secret.  "Oh my Lord," Michael breathed.

          "Yeah, nobody's safe anymore."

          "Right," Michael said.  "Okay, Sergeant.  I appreciate your help."

          "Yeah, no problem.  Just tell whoever's complaining that it's already been taken care of."

          "I'll do that.  Oh, who's the military contact?"

          "A major Michaud at Fort Streeter.  You want a number?"

          "Please," Michael sighed, taking it down.  "Thanks again," he said, then hung up.

          Leaning back in his chair Michael closed his eyes, trying to relax.  It looked like the aliens were on the move again.

          "He's got the man," Sara said.

          Michael's eyes popped open, and he jackknifed forward.  Several of the other detective snickered.  "Now?" he asked under his breath.

          "Yes.  I'm so afraid he's going to kill him."

          "Come on," Michael said, standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Major Michaud," Michael said when the Fort Streeter operator answered.

          "One moment."

          He heard a ring, then, "Major Michaud."

          "Major," Michael said, "this is detective Michael Burton.  I met Colonel Ironhorse and the others last year."

          "Yes, I'm familiar with the incident," the major replied.  "What I can do for you?"

          "I need to know if Ironhorse was involved in the death of a college student named Sara Cole."

          "I'm afraid that's classified."

          "That's what I thought," Michael replied.  "Look, can I speak to the colonel?"

          "Hurry," Sara said, pacing in the detective living room.  The calico curled up on the arm of the couch watched her.

          "I'm afraid he's on leave at the moment."

          "Great."

          "Is something wrong?" Michaud asked.

          "I have reason to believe that Martin Cole, Sara's husband, is going to make an attempt on the colonel's life.  Is Dr. Blackwood available?"

          "No," Michaud said.  "They're… in the field.  But I'll see what I can do about getting in contact with one of them.  Where can I reach you?"

          Michael gave the major his home and beeper number.

          "I'll get back to you as soon as I can.  In the meantime, if you find anything else, let me know ASAP."

          "I'll do that."  He hung up, then turned to Sara.  "They can't get in touch with the colonel."  He stalked into the kitchen, then back into the living room, thinking.  "If Martin was going to kill someone, where would he go?"

          "I don't know," she replied, pushing a stray strand of blond hair out of her face.  "He's a kind, gentle man, not a killer."

          Michael stepped up to face her.  "Think, Sara.  Does he have a place he likes to go when he's upset?  A hideout?  Friends who might help?"

          "His workshop," she replied.

          "What kind of workshop?"

          "He builds miniature planes and helicopters.  Motorized.  He has a workshop, an old cabin his father bought back in the 50s.  When he gets upset he goes out there and works on a project until he thinks it through."

          "Where is this place?"

          "In the Santa Rosa foothills."

          "Let's go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Aliens?" Sara asked incredulously as they drove to the cabin.

          Michael spent a good part of the trip explaining what it was the Ironhorse and the Blackwood Project did.  "Yes," he said.  "Are you sure you weren't… taken over?"

          Her pale blue eyes widened.  "No!"

          "Maybe the colonel thought you were."

          "But I wasn't."

          "When an alien takes over a human body, they look just like the person, and they have access to all the person's knowledge," Michael said.

          "I was in the optics lab," she explained.  "Three people came in.  They took some of our lenses.  They grabbed me, made me show them the emergency exit.  One of them, a woman, left that way.  The other two took me out the main doors…"

          "And?"

          "There was a man, in uniform, he told us to stop."

          Michael waited, knowing how hard it was for some shades to recall the moment of their death.

          "One of the men had a gun," she said softly.  "He was going to shoot the man… he fired…"

          "He thought you were one of the aliens."

          "I remember…"

          "What?"

          "Afterwards," Sara breathed.  "He was holding my head…  He was calling for a medic…  That's the last thing I remember."

          "You died a few hours later," Michael told her, "in the hospital.  You never regained consciousness."

          "Was Martin there?"

          "No."

          "This road," Sara said, pointing to a dirt and gravel drive.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Michael moved through the small cabin-turned-workshop.  There was blood and clear signs of a struggle.  "They were definitely here," he said.

          Sara's hand flew up to cover her mouth.  "Maybe he's already killed him."

          "I don't think so," Michael said, picking up the blood-flecked ropes.

          Michael jumped slightly when his beeper sounded.  He checked the number.  Michaud.  Scanning the room, he spotting the phone, then dialed.

          "Detective Burton?"

          "Yes."

          "We've located the colonel.  He's in Sacramento."

          "Sacramento?"

          "It's an action."

          "Is he okay?"

          "Yes, but Martin Cole's with him."

          "I have to talk to him, now."

          "I'll patch you through."

          While he waited, Michael explained, "The colonel and Martin are in Sacramento."

          "Why?"

          "The aliens."

          "Hello?"

          "Colonel Ironhorse?"

          "What can I do for you, Sergeant Burton?"

          "Is Martin Cole with you?"

          The soldier's voice grew serious.  "Yes."

          "Colonel, I have it on good authority that he's going to make an attempt on your life."

          "He did," the colonel said, "but we've resolved that issue."

          Michael's eyes widened, and he looked at Sara, who faded and disappeared.  "Maybe we'd better talk, Colonel."

          "Sounds like a good idea."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Michael stretched out along his couch, waiting for Sara to reappear.  Something was wrong.  He wasn't sure what, but something…

          "Have you talked to him?" Sara asked, popping in like a whisper.

          "No," Michael said, "but we need to talk."

          "Why?" she asked, dropping into a chair, and stroking the cat nervously.

          Michael studied the young woman's face.  She was pretty, in an innocent, girl-next-door kind of way.  He could easily imagine her in a nun's habit, but she was hiding something…

          "You knew Martin wasn't going to kill Colonel Ironhorse, didn't you."

          Sara looked up, surprised.  "Martin was going to kill him," she argued.

          "But you knew Martin had changed his mind, didn't you."

          She looked down, wringing her hands in her lap.  "No…"

          "Sara, I can't help you if you don't tell me what your unfinished business really is."

          "It's to stop Martin," she said defiantly, lifting her chin to meet Michael's gaze.

          "He stopped himself," Michael said.  "And you're still here."

          Her chin dropped.  "Maybe he'll try again."

          "I don't think so."

          Sara sprang to her feet and paced across the room.  "I don't know then," she stated.

          "I think you do."

          "I don't," she argued, her voice rising.

          "Sara," Michael said, standing as she began to fade, "I need you here.  We have to find out what your unfinished business is!"

          "I don't know!"

          He watched her fade.  "Yes, you do."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Michael sat at one of the outdoor tables at the food hut next to the Octagon ride.  Riders on the newest Six Flags terror ride screamed as they were shot along the track.  He checked his watch.  Ironhorse was due any time now.

          He glanced around, hoping that Sara would put in an appearance.  Instead he spotted the Cherokee soldier.  He walked up the path, a pretty young teen with him.  She grinned and sprinted off to join the Octagon line, a woman and man trailing her, looking more dubious.  Soldiers, Michael knew.  The girl must be Suzanne McCullough's daughter.

          Ironhorse pointed to the food hut.  Debi and the soldiers nodded.

          Michael watched the man approach.

          "He's my unfinished business."

          The detective glanced over his shoulder to find Sara, her wound gone, and holding a red rose bud.

          She stepped forward and handed the flower to Michael.  "I had to forgive him," she said, watching the colonel.  "And he has to forgive himself.  The fate of the planet depends on him and his people."

          "And this will do that?" Michael said, turning the rose in his fingers.

          "I hope so," she said as Ironhorse reached Michael's table.

          "Colonel," Michael said.

          "Burton," Ironhorse replied, his gaze fixed on the flower.

          "Colonel, I had a visit from Sara Cole…"

          Ironhorse said, sitting down across from the detective.  "And?"

          Michael held the rose out to him.  "She said that she forgave you, and you need to forgive yourself."

          The colonel accepted the rose, and briefly sniffed.  "I never meant for an innocent to die," he said, his voice low and gravelly.  "I made a mistake.  I stopped looking at their eyes.  The death that was always staring back was debilitating, but I knew better.  I should have looked."

          Sara walked around the table and sat down next to Paul.  Reaching out, she rested a hand on the colonel's shoulder.

          Ironhorse shivered.

          "I know that now," she said.  "But you just did what you had to in order to survive."

          "She knows that, Colonel," Michael said.  "She said you did what you had to in order to survive."

          "That's all that's important.  To survive and save humanity."

          Michael relayed the comments.

          Ironhorse's chin quivered slightly.  "Saving humanity also means not killing innocents."

          Sara stood, then leaned forward slightly and kissed Ironhorse's forehead.  "Kick their butts, Colonel.  I'll be rooting for you."

          The soldier sat up straighter.  Michael chuckled.

          "What?" Ironhorse asked.

          "You were just kissed by a ghost, Colonel.  And she said to kick their butts.  She'll be watching."  Michael paused as the stream of pure white light fell over Sara.  She smiled and disappeared.  "…From heaven."

          That prompted a small smile.  "I'll do my best," he whispered, placing the rose into a glass vase on the table.  It was in full bloom.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It took Ironhorse a while to heal, but he did.  I think it really helped that he knew Sara forgave him.  And Michael knew he'd done a little to aid their war against the aliens.  That meant a lot to him, too.

          But there was one more time he got caught up in the war of the worlds…

 

Followed by Saying Goodbye 


End file.
